Out of Time
by DougStone
Summary: "I hate Pokemon." With those three words, the adventure of a lifetime begins, one destined to shake the Pokemon world to its core and change its destiny forever! No, really. Plus, albino Pokemon! And space! Death! Teenagers! Yeah!


AN: The canonical status of this story is hard to figure out even for me, and I'm the one who wrote it. I've never been a Pokemon Master, of any type. I'm not a Pokestorian or a Pokechronologist. I just like to write in the Pokeverse. Apologies in advance to all those who feel I'm trampling all over their domain. Apologies, and, oh yeah: get over it. It's my story. If you want a different one, go write your own. Succinctly put, nothing in this story is intentionally non-canonical. Though sticking to any canon, anime, handheld core games, or otherwise, isn't my goal. Pokemon and all other Nintendo products mentioned or referred to here are trademarked by Nintendo and GameFreak. This isn't meant for any monetary gain or official representation. It's for fun, all y'all. Now, read it! Because I said so!

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Out of Time

Chapter One: Tears of Pain, Tears of Joy

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"I hate Pokemon."

Silence hovered heavily in the jail cell. The damp rock wall dug into my back, the cold stone floor lay unforgiving under my sore and tired legs, and the air hung, hot and humid, sapping what life I had left in my broken body. I don't know how long it had been since I had moved. Time had passed. Night and day had merged into one another in a blur, marked only by the cries of Hoothoot and Swablu echoing somewhere that I couldn't see. Every meal was the same, and after so many helpings of bloc, even I could stomach no more. My clothes were more holes than cloth. How long had it been since I had changed clothes?

I'd been allowed no visitors. That made sense, I guess. Couldn't have my story getting out, could they? So my friends were somewhere, doing … things I guess. Life continued as it always would. I hoped wherever they were, they were happy, successful, and safe. Whatever part they'd played in my life, they didn't deserve to share in my fate. No one did.

So my only companions during this time were Pokemon. A Starly had perched on my cell window until I'd thrown my bloc tray at it. A Nincada hidden somewhere in the shadows had kept me up until dawn the first night I'd been here with its chirping. I'd smeared bloc in every crack I could find the next day. The smell was enough to keep the bug Pokemon from returning. A Cascoon – or was it a Silcoon? I could never remember the difference – drooped limply from some cobwebs in the corridor outside. Idle breezes would make it swing, occasionally bringing its unblinking eyes to focus on me. I'd tried engaging it in a staring contest two or three times, but all it brought me was a series of headaches. Myriad ghost Pokemon had made the place into a regular haunt, pun intended. Their wails and moans during the late hours had been jarring at first. Now they soothed my daytime headaches with nighttime migraines.

Everywhere I looked, Pokemon. High and low, night and day, earth and sea and sky and everywhere in between. And as if that weren't enough, I still saw them every time I closed my eyes. I just couldn't escape them. And I was really good at escaping.

"Pokemon. At the end of my life, it all comes back to them. Is it any wonder why I hate them?"

"Is that really the truth of it?"

The voice made me jump, which rewarded me with a solid thump on the head. Stupid wall. I peered across the cell, squinting at the bars. Nothing but shadows, dust, and that idle Sil/Cascoon.

"Hello?" That was what I meant to say. It came out as more of a mumbled, "cough, cough...llo?". Lacking visitors, my voice hadn't had much of a workout, sans screaming alongside Duskull, Drifloon and other ghost Pokemon in the night.

Then it came, the sound of footsteps, slow and heavy, moving down the corridor. I sat up and stretched, two actions my body protested. Aches and pains started yelling for my attention. I ignored them as best as I could, scrubbed a hand through hair long past needing cut, and stood up.

The footsteps went on for an impossibly long time. Finally, a shape passed out of the shadows and into the light. Human, tall, slender, sporting short, dark hair, a severe chin, and wearing stark, black clothes, and sunglasses. The figure continued the slow walk, pivoted to a stop in front of my cell, and nodded at me.

I started laughing. I couldn't help it. It started as a giggle, quiet, subdued. I tried to choke it off, but it kept building. Something broke inside me, something I'd been holding back. The laughter spread, from my throat to my belly, then down into my toes. My body started to shake, my muscles set to spasm. Tears leaked out of my eyes, and I had to rub feeling back into my cheeks.

Through it all, the figure stood, silent and waiting.

"Your humor is intriguing," the person said.

"I've been told that," I said, last giggles trickling away.

The figure waited a moment. "Would you let me in on the joke?"

I wiped some sweat off my lip, and flicked it on the floor. "That would be telling."

The figure drew itself up, eyes inscrutable behind those dark shades. "But that's why we are here. The telling, and the truth of it."

I craned my neck to look up at the single window. "Well, we have a problem then. I've been telling you people the truth all along, and you just aren't interested in hearing it." I could see the same thing out the window that I always saw. Sky. Unending, clear, blue sky. I thought I could hear something different through the wall just now, a hissing, or a crackling, but it was gone. I dismissed it. Probably another bug nest looking for a shady spot, and finding nothing.

I realized then, that the voice was still speaking. "... can all end if you'll tell us the truth. What you've told us all along, as you say, is unacceptable. An outrageous, albeit bold, lie. And as long as you hide the truth, you will remain hidden away here."

My smile came back, but if you'd seen it, I'm sure you'd tell me it didn't reach my eyes. Bitter smiles will do that. I paced a few steps toward the bars, and the figure tensed. I held my hands wide, nonthreatening, and pointed out the shallow window. "What do you see?"

Black glasses regarded me without expression. "I will ask the questions here."

I shrugged. Ouch, even that hurt. "Then it appears you are the liar, my friend. For you have claimed to be a truth seeker. And now you won't seek?" Again, I shrugged painfully, and shuffled back over to the far wall. Sliding slowly down the rock face, I winced at my accumulated hurts. I popped my grimy, torn knuckles, thinking how my gym teachers would be so disappointed with me right now.

Finally, the stoic figure behind the bars spoke. "I see the sky," the voice begrudgingly supplied. "And we're not friends."

I popped the last pinky knuckle and swallowed the smile at the small victory. "Yes. On both counts. So, the sky? Big, bright, beautiful, stretching to the horizon. It's always there too, every morning, this tremendous, expansive blueness the you call the sky." I looked sidelong at the window, and jabbed an accusing finger at that blue. "Not too long ago, I would have told you that _that_ was the lie." I thought about that for a moment. "Well, it still is, just not the lie that I thought it was at first."

Silence stretched in the cell again. The figure reached into a coat pocket and withdrew a small tablet. With quick, precise movements, words were written down. The tablet went back in the coat, and the figure turned to depart.

"Leaving so soon?" I kept the panic out of my voice. Despite my circumstances, it had been forever since I'd had human contact. I wasn't eager to go back to my Pokemon-infested cell all alone again.

The figure spread its hands, aping my movements earlier. "There's nothing more to do here. You're either a fool, or a liar, or both. And perhaps your internment here has robbed you of whatever sanity you previously possessed. Either way, you've nothing valuable to say."

I laughed. This time, it wasn't a silly, desperate gibbering, or a nervous reaction, or bitter, or sweet. It was relief.

"And here I thought you were supposed to be good at this. Listening, that is."

The figure stopped just as the edge of my vision, steps away from leaving. "Listener is one thing I am. Recorder. Historian. Observer."

"And yet you dismiss me out of hand, after mere seconds? You pass judgment on me? Is that why you're really here? I doubt it. No," I scratched at a chin that scratched me right back – I really needed a shave, and a shower, and another shower – musing, "you want to be here. You want to hear what I have to say. I'm a crazy person that's told this ridiculous 'lie', and kept on telling it to anyone and everyone, whether they wanted to hear it or not. And not once, during all this – what you've put me through – have I begged, pleaded, cried, shouted, hit, kicked, screamed, or stopped. I haven't broken. And I haven't changed my story." This time I pointed right at those sunglasses. "And you can't figure it out. And it's killing you. You can't figure it out, and you can't leave it alone, and it won't go away. You want to know. 'Why?' That's what you keep asking yourself. 'Why does he keep on lying, again and again, no matter what?' You can't sleep. You can't concentrate. You have to know." My voice was a whisper now, and the figure was leaning toward the bars, intent. "You have to know, if it's possible, even a little bit, that what I've been saying all along might just be the truth." I knew there were eyes behind those glasses, and I knew I'd found them now. "What do you say? Listen for a spell?"

The glasses stared, statuesque, then turned slightly. Without a word, the figure pivoted, walked down the corridor and out the door. When it banged shut, I sighed mightily, and leaned back against the wall. Well, that was it. My last shot. I'd kept from even saying that much to the guards and attendants that brought my bloc servings. The things I needed to say wouldn't sink in their minds. They wouldn't spread the word. They were cogs. I needed someone that drove the cogs. I needed someone who would really hear me. And I'd thought I finally had my chance. All it took was one willing mind, one set of open ears. And maybe my story might mean something.

I looked out the window once more. I knew I was never getting out of here. That didn't matter anymore. I was done. It was over. Whether or not I ever left this place wasn't the point. It never had been. But I needed to tell my story. Just once.

I jumped. The door was scraping open again. Heavy steps returned, but this time followed by a new sound. Something heavy being dragged across the floor, and a low buzz, drifting through the air. I found myself gulping as the footsteps took their usual time.

The coated figure appeared, lugging a simple wooden stool to a rest just outside an arm's reach of the bars. Dusting the stool off, the figure turned, doffed its coat and hung it on a wall peg. The new sound came from the small, octagonal Pokemon hovering just above head level. A Bronzor. Great, more Pokemon. I just couldn't get away from them, could I?

Sitting down, the figure perched with pen and notepad at the ready. "Start at the beginning."

I thought about it for a moment. "That might be … difficult."

The figure sighed, reached up, and removed the sunglasses. Behind them were very big, bright blue eyes. Along with the high cheekbones, full lips, and severe bangs, they all made for an intriguing, yet suspicious looking young woman. "Is this going to be a long story?"

I sat up, and smiled. "I'm not sure. You see, it's just beginning …"

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AN: As you can see, this is not an Ash & Company story, nor is it an attempt to Gary-Sue myself into the anime or games. Don't know when the next chapter will be up, but I hope you like this one in the meantime. Either that, or you hate it SO much you can't help but yell at me for not mentioning Ash's name even once until the Author's Note. Reviews wanted, good, bad and ugly. Ugly reviews are funny!


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